


First Things First

by TheFeistyRogue



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Good Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Powerful Harry, Romance, Unrequited Love, Veritaserum, but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-02-16
Packaged: 2019-10-29 22:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17816999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFeistyRogue/pseuds/TheFeistyRogue
Summary: Early morning Defense class was never going to be fun.





	First Things First

 

Harry hid a yawn behind his hand and leaned into Hermione, peering at the parchment she’d just extracted from Pigwidgeon. They were in the Great Hall, early enough that the house-elves hadn’t served breakfast, the November morning sun not yet risen. Only other seventh and eighth year Defense students appeared to be up, as they had a practical outside by the lake in half an hour.

“How’s Ron?” he asked around a second yawn.

“You could always write to him yourself,” Hermione muttered, her eyes darting across the page. “He’s good. The usual. He’s still at the shop, helping out George.”

They exchanged a wry, if sad, look. George had been an empty shell of himself over the summer, his grief oppressive and ever present. While Harry and Hermione had returned to Hogwarts to finish their N.E.W.T.s, Ron had decided to stay behind and work at Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. It seemed to be the only thing that could put a smile on George’s face these days. Ron was loving it, at least.

“Oi, Potter!” Harry snapped his head up and only barely managed to catch the paper ball that Zacharias Smith tossed at him. He smoothed the newspaper article out and grinned.

It was an exposé in the sports pages of the Prophet; an editorial on Ginny’s position as a reserve Chaser for the Harpies. It looked like she was impressing all the right people. No surprises there.

“Is Weasley too busy shagging broomsticks to shag you these days?” Smith asked as he sauntered past. A few of their year mates paused their chatter, looking over with interest.

Harry, unable to help himself, snorted.

“I’m the one with the preference for broomsticks,” he said. “Why, you jealous, Smith? I’m sure she can show you how to properly remove that Beater’s bat from your arse, if you ask nicely.”

Smith spluttered, turned on one heel, and stalked away, colliding with Malfoy in the entrance to the Great Hall before disappearing down the corridor. Malfoy, looking bewildered, continued to the Slytherin table to sit with Zabini and Greengrass, ignoring Parkinson’s desperate little wave. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione said, but she was stifling a giggle. “Must you antagonise him?”

Harry grinned at her. “I can’t help it. He’s been nothing but a prat all year. Even Malfoy’s been decent. Ginny and I broke up months ago and I came out in August. It’s not like it’s news.”

“You’ll always be news,” Hermione advised. “Man-Who-Won.”

Harry grimaced and was luckily saved from responding by the arrival of the breakfast spread. He loaded his plate up with bacon and permitted Hermione to slide a few pieces of fruit onto it too.

“I wonder what practical we could possibly be doing by the lake,” Hermione fretted, eating porridge with honey and blueberries herself.

Harry hoped that whatever it was would allow him get away with ‘accidentally’ cursing Smith’s hair red.

* * *

 

Draco brushed himself off and slid into the seat next to Blaise, greeting Daphne with a nod. Pansy was waving frantically down the table, but he couldn’t quite face her so early in the morning.

“What was that about?” he said, eying Smith’s retreating back.

Blaise and Daphne exchanged a look. They’d taken to doing that after shacking up last year.

“Smith antagonising Potter, again,” Daphne answered. “He’s yet to learn that Potter is surprisingly mild-tempered when he’s not stressed about a mad man attempting to murder him every year.”

“Oh?” Draco said, hoping to feign nonchalance. Blaise’s sceptical eyebrow told him that he’d failed.

“Just tell me,” Draco snapped.

Blaise chuckled. “It’s nothing, really.”

Draco tried not to twitch with impatience while he waited for Blaise to elaborate. It was times like this that he almost missed the days of invoking his family name and watching those around him jump to attention. Almost.

Daphne rolled her eyes.

“Smith made a dig about Weaslette, and Potter reminded Smith that he is as bent as the twigs on a school broomstick. Smith threw a hissy fit and stormed off.”

“Your presence was hardly needed to defend his honour,” Blaise added. Draco glared at him. 

“Obviously,” he said. “As if I would.”

Potter was joking with Granger at the Gryffindor table, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Draco tore his gaze away and quickly scooped up a croissant, ignoring Blaise’s knowing smirk.

“Shouldn’t we get to Defense?”

“If we must,” muttered Daphne. She linked arms with Blaise and Draco was left in the unfortunate position of tagging along behind them as they left the hall. 

Dawn was beginning to brighten the sky, but it was still bloody freezing outside. A flick of his wand cast a Warming Charm over his robes as Draco strolled down the path to the lake. The groundskeeper’s hut was puffing smoke like a contented dragon; he could almost imagine snoring shaking the building with each exhale.

Chapman, their Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, was nowhere to be seen. Draco half hoped he didn’t turn up at all; the man seemed to have it out for him.

Blaise and Daphne huddled together against the cold, while Draco kicked stones into the shallows of the lake. They were joined in dribs and drabs by their classmates, Potter and Granger the last to gather.

“Any sign of Chapman?” Potter asked, rubbing his hands together, shivering pathetically.

“Use a Warming Charm, Harry,” Granger huffed, poking his jumper-clad shoulder. “Why didn’t you bring a robe?” 

Potter grinned. “Forgot. What’s the incantation, again?”

Draco rolled his eyes, stepped forward, and cast the spell when it looked like Granger was about to launch into a lecture.

“Ta,” Potter said, his cheeks pinking.

“Thank you, Draco,” Granger said, a quirk to her smile that Draco didn’t really want to investigate. “Really, Harry, that’s sixth year material.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Potter said. He looked guilty, not quite meeting Draco’s eyes. 

Draco knew the feeling. Sixth year hadn’t been one of his proudest, either. He took a breath to say something, perhaps break the awkward silence between them, when Potter wheeled away, drawing his wand.

In the corner of Draco’s eye, he caught a flash of spellfire. Before he could react, a silver shield crackled to life, covering all of them, the spell splashing against the dome and fizzling out. Someone screamed.

“Shit!”

“What’s happening?”

“He can do that, but he can’t manage a Warming Charm?” Blaise grumbled. Draco ignored him and fumbled for his wand, spinning on one foot as he searched for the threat. 

Who had attacked them? Why? He took a shuddering breath and braced himself.

Potter had shielded them all, of course. He’d taken half a step forward, wand raised, gaze fierce as he looked across the grass. Granger was busy casting a range of flares and a Patronus messenger already raced toward the castle.

“Ready? I’m about to drop it,” Potter called. “Wands out.”

Draco glanced around and realised all of them, even Zacharias Smith, had their wands ready, prepared to fight. There was something warming at the sense of community between them, no matter who their enemy might be.

The shield dropped. There was a moment of silence, then Potter shoved his hands forward, a concussive blast rippling through the air. It ought to knock even an invisible attacker off their feet. Draco was impressed. Despite the fact that they were being attacked… he felt safe. Protected. He shook himself and gripped his wand tighter.

“Who’s there?” Potter growled.

“Just me!” someone exclaimed. “Bravo, bravo, I say!”

Chapman poked his head out from behind one of the boulders dotted about the grounds and grinned at them. Draco let out a puff of air and bit back a growl of anger.

“Wonderful reactions; well done, Harry,” Chapman continued, striding toward them. “What fun that was!”

Draco sagged, staring at their professor in horror. His fellow students relaxed around him, beginning to grumble. Draco was tempted to curse the bastard for ‘surprising’ them, but knew he wouldn’t be able to get away with it. He grit his teeth and tucked his wand away.

“Harry, no!”

Granger lunged forward, dragging down Potter’s wand arm just as he was about to cast another spell. A bolt of red light scorched the grass before him.

“He was just testing us,” Granger hissed. Potter was staring blankly at Chapman. “It was just an exercise, Harry; put your wand away.”

Potter shook himself, stowing his wand with a jerk.

He exchanged a long look with Granger, then stalked off, ignoring Chapman’s calls of congratulations. Draco couldn’t blame him. His hands were still shaking. He shoved them into his robes pockets to hide them and took a calming breath.

Descending from the castle like warrior witch, wand raised high, McGonagall rushed onto the field, Flitwick and Sprout behind her.

“Whatever is going on, Miss Granger?” she exclaimed, mouth pursing as she took in the scene. Her gaze flicked about even as her green tartan dressing gown flapped in the wind.

Granger looked furious, her fists clenched, eyes narrowed. Draco took a an instinctive step away from her. He knew exactly how fierce she could be.

“You’re a stupid little idiot with no compassion!” Granger hissed at Chapman, and then she, too, stalked away toward the castle.

“Well, I hardly know what she means,” Chapman said, staring around in bemusement.

“Really?” Draco said, unable to help himself. “Really?”

Daphne and Blaise worked in unison as Chapman’s gaze settled upon him, his lip curling in disgust. The bastard had always hated him and Draco was tempted to give him a tongue lashing. Instead, Daphne dragged him back behind her, as Blaise stepped forward, drawing attention.

“I think what Draco was trying to say is that it could have been considered unwise to attack a twitchy class of students that are only six months fresh out of a war that devastated our community.” Blaise spread his palms and Draco caught the twitch of his lips as he smiled. “But you’re the professor; you know best, of course.”

“You did what?” McGonagall snapped. “Attacked them?”

“Caught us by surprise,” Pansy added. She was pale, but it didn’t stop her from shooting Chapman a nasty glare, then sliding a supportive glance at Draco.

“I thought I was going to die!” Smith declared, seeming to catch onto the general consensus of anger and disgruntlement. Another student piped up, then another, expressing their fury and fear.

“Feeling better?” Daphne muttered under her breath. “You know Chapman has it out for you. Just back off, Draco.”

Draco clenched his fists and jerked a nod. Chapman was whining away as McGonagall tore into him, but for some reason he didn’t feel vindicated. Instead, he shook off Daphne’s embrace and stormed toward the lake, along the path leading to the forest. Chapman would just have to mark him absent for the rest of the lesson.

Draco hardly cared.

* * *

 

Harry stormed toward the Whomping Willow and charmed twigs to zoom toward the branches. The tree was magnificent in action, smashing the offending sticks to a pulp. Harry continued, imagining Chapman in each twig’s stead. 

Bloody Chapman, with his bloody tests, and his bloody superior attitude. The man was a bastard and a bully. At first, Harry had thought he was imagining it, but no; Chapman was always picking on Malfoy. All Harry wanted was to forgive and forget, these days. He was done with fighting and he was done with prejudice. And, above all, Harry always had and always would hate bullies. Chapman had no excuse for his behaviour. He’d not even fought in the war, as far as Harry was aware.

Besides, Malfoy might have been a ginormous prat, but they’d all made mistakes. It had taken a while for Harry to see the war in the shades of grey that Hermione had painted for him, but he thought he understood a little more why Malfoy had acted the way he had.

Learning the truth about Snape had helped.

Harry scowled, unwilling to think about Snape for very long, and sighed, casting his mind to the Potions lesson Slughorn would be giving them later in the day. He hardly wanted to face his classmates after this morning’s disaster. He charmed another branch to fly toward the trees and then was forced to duck when the Willow caught it with a whip-thin limb and tossed it back at him.

Harry snorted; bested by a tree. He collapsed into the grass, ignoring the damp dew and chill of the November morning. As he lay in silence but for the chorus of birds, he picked up the sound of footsteps, then a muttered spell.

“ _ Expelliarmus!” _

Harry froze, wondering if he was overreacting once more, but drew his wand nonetheless.

“Professor Chapman?” That was Malfoy—a voice Harry would recognise anywhere. “Return my wand this instant.”

“ _ Imperio!” _

Perhaps he wasn’t overreacting. Harry crawled forward, trying to get Chapman and Malfoy in sight. He was beneath the swell of a knoll and they sounded as if they were just beyond.

“Drink this, Death Eater,” Chapman growled. Harry grit his teeth and tried to get closer. He hoped it wasn’t poison, or a love potion, or…

“Veritaserum,” Chapman said, sounding pleased. “What’s your full name, scum?”

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Malfoy responded, sounding dull and drugged.

“Did you attack my sister, my baby sister?” Chapman growled. “Did you hurt Katie Bell?”

Harry wondered if the school wards ever picked up on imposters. Probably not. He couldn’t begrude Katie’s family their anger, but what use was attacking Malfoy now? He shuddered to think what else Chapman might have tried, and crawled forward. The ground was cold and tough, and his hands were scraped raw from the rocks below. He winced and continued on; it wasn’t far, even if his clothes were damp and he ached from trying to stay low.

“Did you hurt her?” Chapman repeated.

“No.”

“No!” Chapman said. “What do you mean, no? You gave her that necklace!”

“I did not,” Malfoy answered.

“No!” Chapman hissed. “It’s truth potion; Veritaserum… why are you lying?”

“I’m not.”

Harry’s fingers, numb from the cold, gave out, and he collapsed onto his chest with a grunt. A twig beneath his chest snapped and he tensed.

“Who’s that?” 

“Draco Lucius Malfoy,” Malfoy repeated. Harry pressed his face against his arm. Malfoy didn’t deserve this. He’d been a child—a prat of a child, admittedly—but just a child when the war had begun. As had they all.  

“Fine!” Chapman snarled. “I know it was you. I know you’re responsible somehow. What are your secrets, Draco Malfoy? Tell me!”

Harry tried not to listen, but it was impossible not to hear.

“I’m in love with Harry Potter,” Malfoy said, voice monotone. “I tried to kill Dumbledore, but I couldn’t. I’m gay, and I think my father will disown me. I once tried to  _ Crucio _ …”

“ _ Expelliarmus _ !” Harry surged to his feet, aiming for where he thought Chapman would be. The spell threw Chapman through the air and Harry snatched up his wand. Chapman thudded to the ground with a thump and a groan.

“Malfoy?” Harry cried, drawing closer. “Are you okay? Malfoy?”

Malfoy blinked, his silver eyes liquid and glassy. “No,” he answered, then collapsed.

* * *

 

Draco awoke without a sound and continued to keep his breathing steady. He’d learned not to give himself away after the years spent with Bellatrix and Voldemort in his house. He sighed loudly, feigning a deep breath—the bed beneath him felt soft under his shoulders. When he turned over, his wrists had not been bound to his sides. Not imprisoned, as far as he could tell.

“Are you awake?” someone whispered.

It was Potter, of course. Draco grit his teeth and answered, even as his memories of the morning flooded back to him. He was mortified, terrified.

“Piss off.”

Potter was the last person Draco wanted to see, perhaps ever.

“It’s okay, you know,” Potter continued. “Chapman’s been sent to Azkaban. You’re safe.”

Draco furrowed his brows. That didn’t sound right. He couldn’t resist turning over, eyes snapping open. They were in Hogwarts Infirmary, the white walls and arching ceilings unmistakable.

“Chapman’s been sent to Azkaban?” he asked, uncertain he’d heard correctly.

Potter flashed him a grin, green eyes gleaming behind his glasses.

“Yeah. Fuck him.”

“Fuck him,” Draco echoed. “And what about me?”

Suddenly, Potter looked nervous, shifting in his seat.

“Uh, perhaps, erm… I’d rather date you first, if I’m honest.”

Draco stared at him for a long moment before slamming his head back into his pillow. Of all the stupid answers...

“No, you imbecile. Am I going to Azkaban?”

“What for?” asked Potter, the absolute moron. Draco had always known that he was an idiot with a Quaffle for brains.

Draco glanced around the infirmary, before whispering, “Trying to kill Dumbledore.”

Potter swallowed, then shuffled closer.

“Haven’t told anyone. Well, Ron and Hermione, but we already knew. I was there… that night. You were brave enough not to kill him,” Potter said. He was smiling, one hand extending toward Draco. “My lips are sealed.”

“Right,” Draco said. Potter’s hand landed on his arm and seemed to pat him. “Right,” he repeated. “And the other thing?”

He sucked in a breath, ready to be rejected, reviled, ripped to shreds. Instead, Potter’s grin widened further. 

“Like I said, Malfoy. I’d rather date you first.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by some dumb Drarry Tumblr thread I found that had been screenshotted and posted to Instagram. The world is weird. 
> 
> Ya like?


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